


Yours to Keep

by ThreeKnivesInAWineGlass



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Dancing, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:58:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23334157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThreeKnivesInAWineGlass/pseuds/ThreeKnivesInAWineGlass
Summary: The man brings the back of Minghao’s hand to his lips and whispers, “Thank you, my prince.” He hesitates for a moment, his breath uneven against Minghao’s skin, then presses an icy kiss into Minghao’s hand.
Relationships: Wen Jun Hui | Jun/Xu Ming Hao | The8
Comments: 11
Kudos: 40





	Yours to Keep

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is rated for the appearance and/or discussion of: slavery, implied/referenced abuse, implied/referenced sexual violence, and explicit sexual content.
> 
> Author’s disclaimer: The characters I write about are inferred from public personas but should not be taken as accurate portrayals of their real world counterparts. Some fans have a hard time separating fantasy and reality, so before you read my story, I implore you to frame these as characters, not celebrities. Please don’t project what you read in stories onto real people. Please respect real people.

Minghao could not have wished for a more spectacular night for his admittance into court. Cold moonlight douses everything in a gentle, dewy glow as more streaks of dull blue pouring in from the windows paint the floor. A prettier sight seems impossible, though the evening is still young.

The regular politics of the hall are forgotten in favor of celebrating the prince turning twenty-three. Music fills the air so the nobles and their companions may dance, and Minghao watches one couple continuously step on each other's toes in amusement as he sips on a glass of wine.

People come up to him periodically, usually between songs, to congratulate him on his political arrival - his true coming of age, they call it. Minghao smiles and thanks each of them. He also smiles when courtiers ask for his hand, for a dance, and he politely declines with a light excuse of being tired from the festivities.

Truth be told, Minghao feels elated as he rarely has before, but he would rather not risk his excitement getting the better of him. It would not be proper for a prince to appear as if he didn’t know the traditional dances of the court. He knows the dances, of course, but Minghao also knows himself to be jittery and restless when excited.

Never before has Minghao been privy to so much culture, so much information. Both his lessons and the seasonal festivals gave Minghao immense understanding of his own kingdom, however this is his first experience of being able to not only observe but meet and converse with ambassadors from other lands. It is Minghao’s first experience of truly feeling that he will one day inherit his mother’s crown.

The hall falls silent as another dance comes to an end, and Minghao watches as the representative of Rivhiad rises from his seat and approaches the slight platform Minghao sits atop beside his mother. He stands at the base of the shallow steps to address Minghao’s mother, saying, “To welcome the prince to court, my king has sent a gift from the Rivhiad capital. If it pleases you, Your Majesty, I would like to send for it now.”

“That’s quite a journey for a gift. It must be special if it needed to be sent from the capital,” Minghao’s mother says. Then she turns towards Minghao, asking, “Would you like to see this gift, dear?”

Minghao looks to the representative, who is staring back at him with expectant eyes, and smiles as he says, “Nothing could bring me greater delight than to receive a gift from such strong allies of Onvan.”

His mother hums in approval, then says, “Very well. Send for this gift, ambassador. We are both eager to see what beauty Rivhiad will share with us on this joyous occasion.”

The ambassador bows before striding into the reassembling mass of individuals waiting for the musicians to play once more. Another song comes and goes before Minghao spots the Rivhiad ambassador again. He speaks with the musicians, prompting them to ready their instruments. Although, before they begin to play and the desire to dance seizes the room anew, he stands in the middle of the hall and declares, “To celebrate the prince’s future participation in court, the capital of Rivhiad has sent a gift for His Royal Highness. As such, I invite all of you now to gaze upon the captivating dance of Rivhiad’s most coveted performer.”

A chorus of curious and enthusiastic murmurs ring out as the musicians begin a tentative melody. Minghao watches as the courtiers claim seats or move to line the walls, and then he watches as a man emerges from the crowd to stand in the now open hall.

He’s beautiful. Ashen hair falls neatly to either side of dark eyes accentuated with darker lines and clouds of gentle smoke painted on their lids. His figure is tall and lean, his torso draped in loose layers of sheer white that Minghao would think scandalous were his appearance not akin to a work of art.

His feet glide across the floor as if he were an otherworldly entity instead of mortal, and as the voices in the room quiet once more, he settles into an elegant pose that compounds Minghao’s supernatural thoughts. He perfectly encapsulates the ethereal beauty Minghao read about in his folklore and history books; the myriad of creatures said to enchant, enthrall. It leaves Minghao with a - silly - question floating in his mind, wondering whether this man is of the kind to grant protection or the kind to lure its prey into the dark.

The question is quickly forgotten when the musicians play louder, more sure of their melody. An enchanting mixture of strings, drums, and flutes resounds through the hall, and the man moves flawlessly to the rhythm of the song.

Minghao notices the mirror held in his hand now as the ornate gold passes above him and blocks the moonlight, casting shadows over his face. The play of light piques Minghao’s interest. He’s never seen a dance like this before. It forces Minghao to focus on his movements more in a way, to appreciate how the free strands of his vesture flow as if carried by the wind, and just as he’s drawn in, the pace quickens and he’s struck by the sight of the strands whipping through the air instead.

The rapid shift from the illusion of a breeze to a raging tempest pulls Minghao forward, especially as the mirror moves, revealing flashes of the man’s face as if he were standing in a lightning storm. Within the brief glimpses Minghao gets of his features, he notices a glint of deep purple on pale skin, a quirk in the corner of relaxed lips, a gently raised eyebrow, and it makes each glimpse more alluring as he hopes to catch sight of something new.

Tragically, the man spends much of the dance hiding in the shadow of his mirror or with his back turned to the light. Even when the song slows again, he shields his face with his mirror, his arm, and the long fabric of his sleeves.

It feels like ages have passed since the dance began, since Minghao got his first clear look at the man’s face, and just as he begins to doubt what he saw with that first look, the dance ends.

The man reaches towards the sky with his open hand then draws it down slowly to rest by his face. The mirror hangs at his side, and the sleeve of his extended arm folds over itself by his shoulder, allowing the light to hit his skin and let Minghao properly see the dazzling flecks of purple that trail down his arm and cover his cheeks. He glistens purple and blue, the shades of dark violets and pale hydrangeas.

Applause rings out, but Minghao doesn’t join the uproar right away. He’s struck, frozen, by the way the man’s eyes are cast down at the floor, the way he can’t see a trace of any of the subtle expressions he’d caught during the dance.

Perhaps he imagined them….

The ambassador of Rivhiad moves into the center of the room again, and when his hand comes up, graze’s the man’s back, dark eyes flit up with a speed that makes Minghao uneasy. The feeling isn’t soothed as the ambassador guides the man up to Minghao and his mother’s seats.

“I do hope the performance pleased you, Your Highness. And, of course, you as well, Your Majesty,” the ambassador says with a serenity that Minghao doesn’t like given how rigid the man’s posture is while standing next to him.

A light touch on Minghao’s arm tells him that his mother expects him to handle this conversation, so he pushes down his growing sense of discomfort and nods as he says, “Rest assured, ambassador, I am very pleased. I have strong interest in the arts, so the performance was thrilling.”

The ambassador grins. “I am glad to hear that, Your Highness, as the performance was not the only gift.” The man’s shoulders roll forward ever so slightly and Minghao’s stomach sinks.

With a subtle nudge from the ambassador, the man moves closer and kneels in front of Minghao. He looks up and Minghao’s unease returns with a vengeance as he meets the dull eyes staring at him, as the man’s lips part and Minghao sits powerless to stop the words leaving them.

The man’s voice is soft as he says, “On behalf of the king of Rivhiad, I offer my services to the prince of Onvan. It would be an honor if you would allow me to be yours, Your Highness.” He bows his head then, even quieter, adds, “Please accept me.”

The answer that immediately surges up Minghao’s throat is a searing no. Rivhiad is a strong ally but something is wrong here. Then again, Rivhiad is a strong ally as well as a relatively new ally. Minghao can’t risk the relationship between their kingdoms. Despite his revulsion for whatever has clearly been done to the man before him, Minghao can’t say no.

Biting his tongue, Minghao says, “I accept.” Then he forces himself to hold still as a chilled, timid hand seeks his out.

The man brings the back of Minghao’s hand to his lips and whispers, “Thank you, my prince.” He hesitates for a moment, his breath uneven against Minghao’s skin, then presses an icy kiss into Minghao’s hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Art exists to be witnessed.
> 
> If you’re so inclined after reading my fic, comments are always appreciated, especially if you have thoughts, feelings, or questions about the story. Regardless of whether it’s long or short, comments let me know that my work was engaged with, which, as a writer, is all I hope for those reading my fic to do.


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